


Undelivered

by Angryangryowl



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Hux in denial, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 22:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7952320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angryangryowl/pseuds/Angryangryowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux knows Ren will most likely die on a mission. He lets him go, maintaining that he doesn't care. He realises a few things whilst Ren is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undelivered

**Author's Note:**

> From the TFA king meme prompt:
> 
> ‘I just want Hux - usually so composed and calm - being so thankful Kylo didn’t get himself killed that he pulls him into a hard, passionate kiss in front of everyone (First Order and Resistance alike - maybe even in front of Snoke)
> 
> +++++ If Hux wraps his arms and legs around Kylo because fuck you if you think Hux is going to let Kylo go any time soon ‘

Ren had come to his quarters the night before his mission, barely speaking, mumbling something about wanting to say goodbye.

Hux can’t bring himself to call their furtive, desperate fucking which he denies even to himself a relationship. Ren was useful, suitably attractive (in his own strange way), and willing. There was nothing more to it and if he’s hoping for sweet and heartfelt love-making before he dies heroically in service of the Order, he is about to be very disappointed.

Hux extends his hand for Ren to shake. They will both look entirely ridiculous bowing, embracing is out of the question, however much Hux suddenly wants it. Gloved hand in gloved hand, one brief shake. A gloved hand on Hux’s hip, and the press of Ren’s full lips on his cheek.

‘Goodbye.'

'Good luck.’  
***

Hux waits. It’s all he can do. There’s duties, and work to be done still. And Ren stays in touch for the first couple of weeks. Terse messages with horrendous grammar about mission status. The final one Hux disregards at first. ‘I miss you’. 

But somehow it finds itself on the homepage of his commpad. After three, the messages stop. He can’t sleep, can’t stomach his rations. When he isn’t on the bridge, he’s at his desk in his room. Cup after cup of bitter black caf, report after report, heartburn blossoming under his ribs.

After four, the small red icon in the corner of Hux’s comm pad, linked to the tracker and vital stats monitor on Ren’s belt, winks out. He switches his comm pad off and on a few times, eventually throwing it onto his bed in disgust. His guts twist. He makes his way up the the bridge, barking at a nervous looking lieutenant to bring up the trackers of the other knights.

Three offline, as well as Ren’s. The other three are a long way from Ren’s last reported location. His jaw is set as he nods his thanks, instructing all reports to be sent to his commpad. He sweeps back to his quarters, chain-smokes and stares out of the viewport. 

Whereabouts unknown. Most likely dead. He hurriedly types up a request - no, an order, for a deployment. It’s a long way, even in the most agile shuttle it will be several days before they reach the planet, longer to locate Ren, rescue or, more likely…recovery.

Another week passes. A week of re-reading that last message until he feels his gaze will wipe it from the pad’s memory. Any replies that he sends, angry, ordering, bargaining, pleading, sit in his outbox. The tiny blue text ‘undelivered’ next to each is a taunt.

He sleeps, only a couple of hours, face down on his desk. Phasma threatens him with sedation, a feeding tube and confinement to medbay. No reports from the deployed troopers. He laughs too long and too high when he realizes that he really will do anything to have him back. That he loves this man. Far too late.

He showers and drags himself onto the bridge, sore and shivering in his greatcoat, but hungry for a distraction. He stares out of the viewport, Mitaka at his elbow. ‘Forgive me, sir-’  
‘Lieutenant, if this is anything concerning my pallor, diet or general welfare, I strongly advise you to save it.’

‘Um, no Sir. There’s an unexpected arrival in shuttle bay, about ten minutes ago. Rebellion craft. You asked to be notified.’  
He tries to stop himself hoping.

 

The bridge door sweep open, a tall figure lopes toward, clothes ripped, face filthy, something horribly like blood matted into his hair. But it’s him, and all the decorum and years of training keeping Hux’s back straight and face set no longer seem important.

Mitaka would later on, after a few drinks, tell how he had seen the General throw himself into Ren’s arms. Maybe that wasn’t quite right. But the impact knocks the breath out of both of them, and Ren is too surprised to do anything but hold the smaller man with his legs laced around his waist, his arms around his neck, pulling him in for a passionate and much longed-for kiss. Warm, firm and messy against Ren’s rough, but enthusiastic lips. His grip tight enough to tell Ren that he is never, ever letting him go again.

Hux entirely ignores the applause from the whole of the bridge staff.

‘Thank fuck, Ren. You’re alive.’


End file.
